Then there was a knock at the door and Mr. Carson entered with a completely innocent face. Prokop, his hands behind his back, stopped him and measured him with melancholy eyes. “Who are you, man?” he said sharply.
Mr. Carson did not even blink, crossed his hands on his chest and bowed like a Turk.
“Prince Aladdin,” he said, “I am a djinn, your slave. Instruct me and I will carry out your every wish. You’ve been to bye-byes? Well, your Excellence, how do you like it here?”
“Enormously,” said Prokop bitterly. “I should only like to know whether I’m a prisoner here, and if so, by what right.”
“A prisoner?” said Mr. Carson, astounded. “Good heavens, surely nobody’s been preventing your going into the park?”
“No, but going out of the park.”
Mr. Carson shook his head sympathetically. “Unpleasant, eh? I’m terribly upset that you’re dissatisfied. Did you bathe in the lake?”
“No. How do I get out?”
“By the main exit, of course. Go straight on and then to the left—”
“And there I’ve to show a pass, eh? Only that I have none.”
“A pity,” said Mr. Carson. “Such pretty country round about.”
“Mostly masses of soldiers.”
“A lot of soldiers,” agreed Mr. Carson. “Well said.”
“Listen,” burst out Prokop and his forehead twitched with anger, “do you think that it’s pleasant to come upon a bayonet or a barbed-wire entanglement every few yards?”
“Where’s that?” said Mr. Carson, astonished.
“Everywhere at the edge of the park.”
“And what in God’s name is taking you to the edge of the park? You can walk about the middle; what more do you want?”
“So I am a prisoner?”
“God preserve us! So I shan’t forget it, here’s a pass for you. A laissez-passer to the factory, see? In case by any chance you would like to have a look at it.”
Prokop took the pass from him and became amazed; on it was his photograph, evidently taken the same day. “And with this I can get outside?”
“No,” said Mr. Carson quickly. “I shouldn’t advise you to. Generally speaking, I should be careful if I were you, eh? You understand? Come and look,” he said from the window.
“What is it?”
“Egon is learning to box. Phew, he’s caught it! That’s Von Graun, see? Aha! that kid’s got some spirit!”
Prokop looked with revulsion into the yard, where a half-naked lad, bleeding from the mouth and nose, and sobbing with pain and anger, was hurling himself again and again at an older opponent, to be thrown back every time more bloody and pitiful than ever. What he found particularly revolting was that the performance was being watched by the old Prince from a bathchair, laughing for all he was worth, while Princess Willy was chatting calmly all the time with a magnificently handsome man. Finally, Egon collapsed into the sand completely stupefied and allowed the blood to pour from his nose.
“Brutes!” roared Prokop, addressing the remark to no one in particular, and clenched his fists.
“You mustn’t be so sensitive here,” said Mr. Carson. “Severe discipline. Life … as in the army. We don’t treat anybody gently here,” he added, so pointedly that it seemed like a threat.
“Carson,” said Prokop seriously. “Am I here … as it were … in prison?”
“Good gracious, no! You’re only in a concern which is under supervision. A powder factory isn’t quite the same sort of thing as a barber’s shop, what? You must adapt yourself to the position.”
“I leave tomorrow,” Prokop burst out.
“Ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Carson and slapped him on the stomach. “A great wag! You’ll come and see us this evening, eh?”
“I won’t go anywhere! Where’s Thomas?”
“What? aha! your Thomas. Well, at the moment a long way away. Here’s the key of your laboratory. Nobody will disturb you. I’m sorry I’ve no time.”
“Carson!” Prokop wished to stop him, but he drew back before a gesture so commanding that he did not venture to come nearer; and Mr. Carson slid out of the room whistling like a trained starling.
Prokop made his way with his pass to the main entrance. The old man studied it and shook his head; the pass, he said, was only valid for exit C, the exit leading to the laboratories. Prokop went to exit C; the man out of the film with a flat cap examined the pass and pointed: straight ahead, then the third crossroad to the north. Prokop of course took the first road to the south; but after five steps he was stopped by a soldier: back and the third road to the left. Prokop ignored the third road to the left and went straight ahead across a meadow; in a moment three people appeared in front of him. He was not allowed to go this way. Then he obediently went along the third road to the north, and when he thought that there was no one watching him again turned off the road between some munition sheds. Here he encountered a soldier with a fixed bayonet who told him to go to crossroads No. B11 Road N.6. Prokop tried his luck at each crossroad; he was always stopped and sent back to road B11 N.6; finally he learned reason and realized that a pass on which were the letters “C3n.wF.H.A.V11.N6.barV.7.F.b!” had some secret and unescapable significance which he was bound to recognize. So he now went where they directed him. The munition sheds were left behind, and instead were small concrete structures, all marked with numbers, evidently experimental laboratories or something of the sort, distributed amongst the sand dunes and pine woods. His path led to a completely isolated hut numbered V.7. On the door was a brass plate marked “Eng. Prokop.” Prokop brought out the key which Carson had given him and went inside.
He was confronted with a perfectly equipped laboratory for the chemistry of explosives—so complete and modern that Prokop held his breath with the delight of a specialist. On a nail there hung his old overall, in the corner was a military palliasse like the one he
